


Live A Little

by TravelingSong



Category: The Blacklist (TV)
Genre: A Date, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-24
Updated: 2017-09-24
Packaged: 2019-01-04 23:29:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12178593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TravelingSong/pseuds/TravelingSong
Summary: He turns so he can face her more comfortably, rests his arm on the back of the bench, his fingers playing with her hair absentmindedly. He remains quiet for a moment, ponders his next step carefully, until he finally breaks the silence."Close your eyes, Lizzie."





	Live A Little

**Author's Note:**

> Since I'm basically ignoring everything season 5 will throw at us, here is a little, sweet one-shot. I would love to hear your thoughts. Enjoy!

"Lizzie, how are you on this beautiful day?"

It's lunchtime when the phone rings, his voice sounding entirely too cheerful. It's her first day off in months and she wonders if he's aware, wonders if he knows she hasn't been sleeping much either. Work has consumed her recently and they haven't seen much of each other, just talk briefly whenever the FBI needs new intel, but she misses him in a strange, profound way, a way she'd rather not think about too much. Things are complicated enough already.

"Doing fine," she responds briefly. "Any particular reason you're calling, Red?"

"Yes, actually. I was wondering if you'd like to accompany me to a round of miniature golf."

"Miniature golf?"

"Are you busy?"

"No, I just...is this about a case?"

"Not exactly."

"Then what it is?"

"A round of miniature golf, as I said. No ulterior motives. We don't always need a blacklister to catch, do we?"

"I suppose not."

"Then let's live a little, Lizzie. How about I pick you up at 5?"

"Yeah, I guess that would wo-"

"Splendid. I'll see you in a few hours."

She doesn't know what just happened.

She thinks she needs to clean the house just in case he wants to come in. She thinks she needs to eat, just in case the course has nothing to offer. She thinks she needs to find an outfit, something miniature-golf-approriate, whatever that means.

She thinks she needs to get her nerves under control before the doorbell rings.

* * *

"Is that your golfing attire?"

It's her first reaction when she opens the door and she scolds herself for the edge in her voice, his perfect three-piece suit and open collar throwing her off-balance. He looks good and that's the problem, the fedora, the sunglasses, the smile without a care in the world all perfectly in place. He looks  _good_ and she still doesn't know what all of this means, what exactly they're doing.

"It's casual, Lizzie. No tie, see?"

"I don't think this counts as casual."

"I'll do better next time."

_Next time._

Next time?

"In any case, you look absolutely wonderful. Shall we?" She feels his hand on her back the second she steps forward, gently guiding her towards the car, and she's glad he didn't see the mess in her bedroom earlier, her clothes thrown all over the place, the outfit she was looking for seemingly elusive until she finally settled on a burgundy dress and light jacket, something  _in fact_  casual and just right for these final summer days. And now she can feel the warmth of his fingertips permeate through the thin fabric and she thinks she might not need a jacket after all.

In the car, he lets her lead the conversation, lets her ramble on about work and frustrating cases, squeezes her hand occasionally in a gesture of encouragement, and by the time they get to the golf course, she feels much calmer, as if all the somber thoughts have finally relinquished the place in her mind and she can breathe again.

"When was the last time you've played miniature golf?" he asks as he leads her past the entrance with a nod to the employee at the ticket booth and picks up two putters along the way.

"Probably in college."

"Well, then it's time we brush up on your skills."

"Are you getting competitive about this already, Red?"

"Are you scared?" He hands her one of the clubs with a daring glint in his eyes, raises his eyebrows in a silent challenge.

"Absolutely not. Tell you what, how about the winner pays for food after we're done? They have hot dogs right over there."

"You're on, Lizzie," he says, holds out his hand for her to shake. "Hot dogs it is."

* * *

She notices a few things as the minutes tick by and the game progresses.

She notices the way he kneels down like a professional to predict the trajectory of the ball and the way his face scrunches up quite comically when he misses the hole.

She notices the way he stands a bit too close, how he whispers in her ear to break her concentration and how it tickles,  _a bit more to the right, Lizzie_ , how he doesn't play fair and how she didn't expect him to.

She notices the way he treats those around him, how he helps a little girl whose club is just slightly too big, how he gets her a new one and shows her how to hold it correctly.

She notices that they're hopelessly overdressed, that really he doesn't stand a chance against her, that his touches are becoming more frequent and that they can no longer be a coincidence, that she enjoys the idea of that, that she keeps smiling and smiling and  _smiling_ , that she hasn't thought about work once.

"You're a formidable opponent," he tells her after the final round as he walks over to the vendor to make good on his promise.

"And you're a dignified loser, Red." She pats his shoulder affectionately and passes him a napkin. "Thanks for bringing me here."

"You're most welcome, Lizzie. Now, how about dinner?"

"Isn't that what we're doing?"

He eyes his plate dismissively, shakes his head. "I would call this many things but  _dinner_  isn't one of them."

"What did you have in mind instead?"

"There's a very charming Italian restaurant right down the street from here."

Suddenly, fragment by fragment, everything falls into place. Suddenly, with that particular look of his, the open questions surrounding them, she knows exactly what this is.

Suddenly,  _complicated_  doesn't seem like the worst idea.

"Let's go."

* * *

They take their time enjoying dinner, leave the restaurant much later than planned, and when he suggests a walk down the promenade she instantly agrees.  _Would be a shame to waste an evening as beautiful as this_ , he tells her, and she doesn't miss the way his voice drops, as if he leaves the thought unfinished. She's filed them all away, these fleeting memories, has arranged them like a puzzle, and she wishes she had the courage to address them, act on them.

He leads them to a bench that overlooks the river, the reflection of the city lights beaming brightly across the water. She can feel his eyes watching her from the side, is shaken from her musings when he touches her arm.

"Are you alright, Lizzie? You seem a bit distracted."

She could finally solve it.

"I've been thinking," she begins.

"You've been thinking…"

She could finally find the missing piece.

"I've been thinking that this feels an awful lot like a date, Red."

"That's rather convenient."

"Is it?"

"Yes."

"And why is that?"

He turns so he can face her more comfortably, rests his arm on the back of the bench, his fingers playing with her hair absentmindedly. He remains quiet for a moment, ponders his next step carefully, until he finally breaks the silence.

"Close your eyes, Lizzie."

It's not an answer to her question, it's unexpected and thrilling, a matter of trust.

It's a choice she makes. The world disappearing.

It's a confession.

He doesn't kiss her right away. That comes later. Instead, he puts his jacket around her shoulders, makes sure she's warm. Instead, he takes her hand in his and holds on to it tightly. Instead, he tells her the truth.

_It's as it should be._

And then.

Then he kisses her.

It's a gentle pulsation in her heart, a content humming that grows and grows, it's just as she imagined it, just as memorable, just as intimate. She wonders if his eyes are closed, too, is almost sure they are, and she hopes it lasts, that nothing will break the spell. That he won't let go of her hand.

He takes his time, has waited too long to rush the moment, and when his kisses grow briefer and softer because he can't bring himself to stop, that's when she looks at him.

"I stand by what I said earlier," she whispers a little out of breath. "This still feels an awful lot like a date."

"I would have hoped so." He traces his thumb down the side of her thigh, can't quite fight the urge to touch her. "Would you like me to take you home?"

"No." It's determined and confident, and before he can respond she presses another kiss to his lips. "We have the whole night ahead of us. Let's live a little."

**Author's Note:**

> I was inspired by the BTS pictures of James and Megan golfing. If you've seen the photos, I'm sure that wasn't hard to guess.


End file.
